


I'm Not Saying Goodbye

by Fruit_and_nut_case



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Greek Mythology - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-25 00:14:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14964948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fruit_and_nut_case/pseuds/Fruit_and_nut_case
Summary: In all the world there was never once a musician more skilled than Waverly Earp. For with the power of her voice and lyre alone she could sway the immovable to her will, tame the wild beasts and overcome any enmity. If only she could sing someone into existence who could love her.ORA Wayhaught take on the Classical myth of Orpheus and Eurydice.





	1. Part I

In all the world there was never once a musician more skilled than Waverly Earp. Daughter of the King of Thrace and the Muse Calliope, she was often taken for the progeny of Apollo himself, god of music and poetry. For with the power of her voice and lyre alone she could sway the immovable to her will, tame the wild beasts and overcome any enmity. Trees bent to hear her song. Rocks split to let her pass. Waves would calm for the prow of her ship, and her harmony bled into the hearts of all races, all creatures as they followed in her wake.

While she had sung more songs than the hours of her life, she herself, as a heroin, remained unsung. Few knew that it was her who Champ Jason Hardy sought to join his band of Argonauts. It was she who out sang the Sirens’ song, guiding the Argo safely to shore, and that witch Medea had nothing to do with charming the dragon guarding the Golden Fleece. It was all the work of Waverly’s fingers on her lyre while Champ cowered behind her. 

Unrecognised and underestimated, Waverly often found herself lonely. If only she could sing someone into existence who could love her.

~*~

Her penchant for adventure sated for the time being, Waverly was reclined on a grassy bank of a gurgling brook, humming softly to brushed chords and debating challenging Pan to a singing contest. 

It was then that movement caught her eye across the stream. As she watched, a tall, lithe form with a shock of red hair dropped gracefully from among the trees and crouched, inspecting what must have been tracks in the soft mud of the bank. A bow and quiver of arrows were slung across their slender back.

Waverly was entranced. She did not think that she had ever seen a more beautiful sight in all her life; in all her extensive travels. As if sensing that they were being watched, the redheaded figure looked up. Eyes as wide as the doe they must have been tracking snapped into connection with Waverly’s own. As if in a daze, Waverly rose to her feet and drifted closer to the edge of the water. The stranger tensed in suspicion but did not move away.

Waverly smiled and raised a hand in greeting. The redhead unfurled to their full height and stepped cautiously out of the shade. Waverly’s breath caught in her throat as she took in the features of the gorgeous woman in front of her and the way the sunlight danced on her auburn hair. The stranger’s face seemed to mirror her awe, and a shy smile raised her lips, the slightest hint of dimples gracing her cheeks. Waverly was pretty sure she fell in love right then and there.

“Hello,” Waverly called. “I am Waverly. Earp. Waverly Earp.” She felt like a young girl again and not the woman who had faced down a dragon. Taking another step forward she managed to trip and fall in the stream.

The gorgeous redhead laughed, which was a type of music too beautiful for Waverly to ever hope to replicate. “I don’t think we have wet-tunic competitions in the countryside, Waverly Earp.” The beautiful stranger said.

Then Waverly felt two firm hands on her, helping her up. “Are you okay?” she asked. Waverly could only stare and blush, overwhelmed by their close proximity and the electricity of her touch. The stranger’s grin widened. “I’m Nicole.” She offered.

“Uh...hi.” Waverly returned with a dopy smile.

After an awkward pause Nicole motioned to the instrument Waverly had forgotten in the grass. “Is that your lyre?” Waverly nodded. “I have never seen one before,” Nicole continued, “Only ever pan-pipes.”

Waverly gasped. “Then you have never lived!” She exclaimed. “Come, I have to introduce you to the art of true music.”

“Quite sure of yourself, aren’t you?” Nicole chuckled as they sat down on the vibrant grass. Waverly blushed again and bit her lip. Picking up her lyre, she changed her mind and handed it to Nicole.

“Here, you try it.” Nicole eyed the craftsmanship of the curved wooden frame and wiped her hands on her tunic. “It’s okay, I made it myself. You won’t break it, and even if you did, I’d fix it.” The bard quipped with a flash of pearly-whites. Nicole huffed out a laugh and took it tentatively. “If you place it in your arm like this,” Waverly adjusted Nicole’s grip, “then your hands are free to reach the strings. Now try.” Nicole gently brushed the strings, her finger-tips barely touching them.

Waverly watched her face closely, lost in the depths of her swirling brown eyes and how the anxious crease in her brow disappeared upon hearing the sweet notes. Waverly showed Nicole how to place her hands and how to draw different notes out of the instrument. Eventually Nicole handed the lyre back and said, “Show me what true music is then.”

“You don’t need me for that.” Waverly replied, gazing at her softly, “But it would be my honour to play for you.” Now it was Nicole’s turn to blush, no longer feeling quite so crude and rustic under this woman’s attention.

Waverly smiled and began to play and eventually to sing. For the first time in a long time she did not sing to any purpose, but simply from her heart.

Waverly’s words spoke to Nicole who lost herself in the music, but their eye contact did not falter until Waverly reached the end of her piece when both women looked away, embarrassed at the intense connection they felt despite only just having met.

When the sounds of the forest filtered back into the air between them, Waverly nodded towards Nicole’s bow, “Now you have to teach me how to shoot that thing.” The redhead’s dimples were back with a vengeance and Waverly was quite sure they were more lethal than the arrows in her quiver, or at least Cupid’s arrows.

“Maybe some other time.” Nicole said, standing to leave. “I have to go.”

“But wait!” Waverly cried, jumping to her feet. “Will I see you again?”

“I’ll see you around Waverly Earp.” The redhead winked, and then like a spirit of the forest, she was gone.

~*~

Waverly did in fact see her around. Many times, until it got to the point where neither could leave when dusk fell. One day, Waverly summoned all of her courage and dropped to one knee in front of Nicole, asking the redhead to marry her. Nicole flung herself into the shorter woman’s arms and showered her face with kisses. Of course she agreed. 

Together they built a cabin in a grassy clearing in the woods. They tended a small vegetable garden and spent hours fishing together in the streams and rivers that intersected the forest. When their catch was light, Nicole would set out hunting for small game and the occasional venison. When the days were warm and cloudless, and the hum of bees could be heard around the blossoms, the couple would lie in the meadow and Nicole would weave flowers into Waverly’s flowing locks as the bard sang of faraway lands and troubles that could never touch them. 

Their days were filled with endless music, even when Waverly set down her lyre. The symphony of smiles shared, fleeting touches, playful conversations and the general sounds of daily life were a composition so perfect that Waverly knew she would never want for anything else for as long as she lived. Nicole was her everything.

 

~*~

 

It was a morning as fine as any other when the pair made their way down to the small pool where they liked to bathe, with the early sunlight casting dappled patterns on their skin. As Waverly was about to undress, a light touch on her arm stopped her.

“Wait.” Nicole said; her attention focused intensely into the dense undergrowth of the surrounding trees.

“What’s wrong?” Waverly whispered.

“Someone’s watching us.” Nicole replied uneasily.

It was then that she noticed the birds had stopped singing. Taking Nicole’s hand, Waverly interlaced their fingers and squeezed gently in reassurance. They stared at the bushes for so long that when the branches twitched it took them by surprise.

Releasing Waverly’s hand, Nicole made her way stealthily towards the disturbance, and as she expected, there was no sign of anything. But a chill crept up her spine, causing her to shiver, and returning to Waverly felt like returning home to the hearth in winter.

 

~*~

 

The feeling of being watched persisted for days to come and Nicole’s anxiety increased to distraction. Born and raised in the forest, Nicole always seemed to have an uncanny awareness of her surroundings that Waverly did not, and when Waverly suggested tentatively whether Nicole might be being paranoid, it did not go down well.

“You don’t believe me do you?” Nicole asked, her voice trembling with betrayal.

Waverly sighed and tried to reach out for her, but that only made the redhead retreat further toward the door of their cabin liked a spooked animal. “I just...I hate that I can’t feel whatever is affecting you! I have tried asking it to reveal itself in song, and I have never known my music to fail. ”

“Ah, so since the voice of the prodigal bard never wavers, that can only mean that I am wrong!”

“You are a great tracker Nicole, but you’re only human. If there was something there, it would come into the open when I call to it in music.”

“I’m going hunting.” Nicole said flatly, and left. The door closed with finality, and now Waverly could feel a sense of foreboding.

She wanted desperately to go after her wife, but hunting was something Nicole liked to do alone. She said it cleared her head. They both probably needed some space; they had never fought before. 

And so she let her go.

 

~*~

 

Nicole sprinted through the clearing, delving deep into the forest. She wandered aimlessly for a while, too upset to focus on tracking any animals. Eventually she found herself in the meadow where Waverly had lain the first day they met. She remembers wondering what manner of goddess she had happened upon, lying there, honey coloured hair splayed out, fingers paused over the strings of her lyre.

Wiping at the stray tears leaking from her eyes, Nicole froze. A twig had snapped behind her. Slowly she turned around, notching an arrow in her bow. That coldness that had seemed to haunt her in recent days bled into her veins, turning her roaring pulse into a numb crawl.

A man stepped into the meadow from the fringe of the trees. He was tall and thin and wore a menacing smirk that matched his predatory movements.

“Who are you?” Nicole called, standing her ground, bow raised in warning. “Come no further if you value your life.”

The man halted his advance but the tainted smile did not fall from his face. “My name is Tucker Gardner.” He replied in a thin voice. “And you are Nicole, wife of Waverly Earp.” His tone tripped over the word ‘wife’ as if it were something to be avoided.

Nicole swallowed imperceptibly. “You’ve been spying on us.” Her voice raised like a question at the end, challenging him to refute her.

“Not at all,” Tucker’s leer widened, “I simply like to hunt in your area.” He began to stalk forward once again, forcing Nicole to retreat a few steps. She did not want to shoot, but nor did she want to show any weakness. “You know,” Tucker continued, “Your marriage is a charade. You have no witnesses. You will never be more than Waverly Earp’s whore. She is too good for you. A legendary bard in love with a common wood’s person? Please. You cannot hope to hold her attention for long when the wide world is beckoning her. You are holding her back.”

“That is our own private business. And perhaps you do not know us as well as you think.” Nicole contended. “Waverly says nothing she does not mean, and she tells me she loves me every day.” At that, Tucker’s expression hardened.

“Maybe I will just have to teach her what pure love is by weeding out what has perverted hers.” His stride increased suddenly and his hand disappeared behind his back. He was several feet away when Nicole spotted the flash of a metal dagger in his grip. She released her arrow, but she would not aim to kill a human being.

The flint struck his shoulder, but barely impeded his advance. Ripping the shaft out of his flesh as if it were nothing, Tucker gave chase.

Nicole ran, and ran, and ran. She was fast and light on her feet, leaving few tracks. She knew these woods like she had come to know Waverly’s body. That is to say very well. Barely breaking her stride, she jumped, grabbing onto a low branch and pulling herself up. As she scaled the tree she felt cobwebs break against her face until she came to rest among branches that would provide her more cover. 

As she sat there with bated breath, waiting to see if she had lost her pursuer, a sharp pain blossomed in her forearm. She looked down to see a Black Widow spider, stark against her pale skin. She brushed it off quickly, shaking her arm on impulse as a shudder wracked her body and her heart dropped into her stomach once again that day. Two red pricks remained and had already begun to swell.

Nicole dared not leave the tree for fear Tucker still lurked in the shadows, and as one hour passed, and then two, the pain in her arm spread and increased exponentially. Shivering and alone, she soon found her sight failing as the world spun around her. Her last thought was of the safety of Waverly’s arms before blackness overcame her, and she fell like a leaf in autumn.

 

~*~

 

Waverly could not take it any longer. The shadows stretched into late afternoon, stretching with them the terrible sense of dread that had coiled itself around the musician’s heart. Leaving the confines of their peaceful glade, she set out to find the love of her life and repair the damage she had done. She did not doubt Nicole’s abilities, but nor was she able to accept that her music could fail her and put her wife in danger.

She roamed the woods, scouring all the places that Nicole had told her held sentimental value, until she came across the meadow where they first met. There among the tall grass she found one of Nicole’s arrows. It was covered in blood. Waverly felt all the air escape from her lungs. She couldn’t breathe. 

If Nicole made a kill, she would clean the arrow and re-use it. Her aim was always true. If the arrow was still here, she hadn’t made the kill, and if she hadn’t made the kill, she hadn’t aimed to. But Nicole would never cause an animal needless suffering. Something was wrong, and Waverly had never felt such fear.

Desperately she searched for her wife with mounting despair, until among a thicket of scrub surrounding a tall tree, she caught a flash of auburn in the waning light. There was Nicole. Skin a luminous white in the encompassing shade, red locks splayed out around her head in a vibrant halo of fire.

“Nicole!” She cried, felled to her knees beside her beloved. “Nicole?” Waverly’s voice wavered as she placed tentative hands upon twisted limbs. Her skin was cold. So cold. Too cold. “No, no, no, no, no...” she choked, shaking the dear body gently and then more firmly when there was no response. “Please, Nicole, please.” Sobs began to wrack her frame as she searched frantically for an injury that would explain something. Anything. A wrist swollen and discoloured with some kind of toxin. Broken bones and dried blood. Blood dried. No heart beat.

“NO!” A primal scream ripped from Waverly’s throat and should have left her vocal chords raw and bloody. Birds settling in to nest for the night shot out of the trees, and throughout the forest, all manner of creatures felt her pain. 

Cupping Nicole’s face tenderly, Waverly rubbed the spot where dimples should have been, tears streaming from her eyes and dropping onto cheeks that lacked their usual blush. Deep brown eyes were closed over, never to share their mischief nor love with her ever again. Pulling the prostrate form into her arms, Waverly stroked Nicole’s hair and kissed her forehead, rocking backwards and forwards gently as if she were a putting a baby to sleep. As if this would assuage her own anguish. And as she cradled her love in her arms, no longer able to offer her safety, she began to sing, brokenly through her tears.

She sang throughout the night, and the nights and days to come. She sang until her voice was raw, until she could sing not one note more. She sang of suns rising on distant shores, of moons casting their glow on burbling brooks where amorous lovers held their trysts. Of colourful markets in far off lands, and the sweet tasting juices of the fruits they sold. She sang of pain and blood and war. She sang of belonging and truth and warmth. Of the peace of the woodland that was their home, and the outstanding love that she held for Nicole. Of all she wished she could have said. Of her wife’s kindness and light that an early death stole.

Still she sang as her lips moved and no words came. And then she vowed to sing no more.

 

~*~

 

Silence weighed heavily in the clearing as Waverly lit the funeral pyre. The whole forest had been silent for days. Not one bird dared to make a sound, nor one breath of wind dared to disturb the branches.

It was rumoured that there was a way to enter the Underworld in the city of Taenarum in Laconia. And so that was where Waverly would go. Because the one thing that she refused to sing was goodbye.

When Tucker came creeping a few days later, he found nothing except an empty cabin and a fresh gravestone. He died painfully of septicaemia soon after.


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Nicole's death, Waverly descends into the Underworld to get her back.

They say that there are six great rivers of the Underworld, and that the river Styx, the river of hatred, winds around it nine times. They say that if you sail far enough out into the ocean, you will come to its banks at the end of the Earth. Charon, the ferryman, will take you across for a price, and woe to those whose family could not spare a coin for the pyre. 

They say that the Elysium Fields offer an eternity, free from pain and labour, to heroes and those slain in battle. If they so choose, they may drink from the river Lethe, river of forgetfulness, and return to the upper air, born anew in fresh bodies. They say Phlegethon, river of fire, leads the way to Tartarus and the souls of the damned; as far beneath the Underworld as the Earth below the sky. And in between, they say, Cocytus, river of wailing, winds among the spirits of all the rest of humanity, including those unfortunate enough to die before their time.

They say many things, but really, no-one knows anything at all.

 

~*~

 

A small figure stood, facing the great gates of Hades armed with nothing but a lyre; her form, silhouetted against what remained of the light from the Upper World whence she had descended. With a tremendous groan, the aged hinges creaked open and Waverly Earp was granted passage into the perpetual darkness of the Lower Realm.

She carved her way through the cloying blackness, hemmed in by Hunger and Grief, Disease and Old Age, Greed and all the other afflictions of humanity that make their home in the bowels of the Earth. But as unseen eyes followed her in the darkness, and reaching hands stroked at her cloak, she forged on through the Halls of Hades with single minded determination, stoic in her silence, with Nicole as the beacon guiding her on.

Her footsteps echoed around her, a signal to any ears that she did not belong in this wretched place where no-one living was meant to step foot. And then an ominous rumbling joined in with the rhythm of her feet until they ceased to move, and Waverly stood still once again, peering into the dark depths beyond her. A foul smell pervaded her nostrils before a hulking form emerged, only visible for the density of its bulk against the surrounding gloom. Three great maws gnashed their teeth, dripping with venomous saliva as hackles, shaggy with spitting serpents, rose on a gargantuan back. The beast’s warning growls reverberated throughout Waverly’s bones as its terrible claws scraped threateningly on the unforgiving ground.

The tacit bard gulped. She had no sword at her belt, no meat that might appease such a creature, no convenient hero to solve the problem for her. But then she thought of Nicole, and the way she used to look at her. To Nicole she was a hero whether she was a renowned musician or a simple goat-herd. But to be the hero that her wife needed right now, her vow of silence must be broken. And so, uncertain for the first time in her ability to perform, Waverly dug deep into her soul for the memories that would aid her. And taking a deep breath, she unleashed her only weapon.

Her voice rang clear and true, but her fingers trembled as they rose to the strings of her lyre. As she began her accompaniment, the snarling stopped. Gaining confidence, Waverly surrendered to the music, revelling in how it felt to play after so long. She closed her eyes and the chilling darkness fell away. The Hound of Hell was reduced to a puppy in her mind’s eye, and she was transported to a grassy meadow beside a gurgling brook. Brown eyes and dimples warmed her heart and allowed her to translate feeling into sound once again.

Never before had this creature conceived of such a sound and its foreignness caused its six ears to flatten and a pathetic whine to escape from three throats. The sweet notes cleaved the heavy silence until they seemed as loud as the bells in a bell tower when one is beneath them. Putrid breath puffed against Waverly’s face as the Hound panted, but still she played, envisaging the scene of a young pup bounding through a meadow, carefree in the warmth of the sun. The great mass before her slumped to the floor, its ears twitching, a massive paw scratching one of its monstrous heads, while another yawned in drowsiness.

 

Carefully and ever so slowly, Waverly began to inch her way past six drooping eyes with their hell-fire irises, never ceasing to play. Her music worked as less of a shield and more of an embrace. She was almost clear when a substantial rope of fur and bone slammed down in front of her, causing her to pull up short and almost falter in her rendition. The same happed again and then again, and Waverly smiled. Had she just caused the guard-dog of the Underworld to wag its tail?

Widening her girth, she slipped past the beast and continued on to the shore of the Styx.

 

~*~

 

Jeremy was having a slow day. Apparently there were no great battles being waged in the mortal world, and murderers were taking a day to sharpen their weapons. Maybe all the old people ate one too many green vegetables in their life time and the Fates decided that today would be the extra day they could cash in on their promised longevity. At any rate, when a lonesome figure did emerge from the mists, he certainly did not expect them to be alive.

Raising to his full height - which was not considerably taller than this newcomer’s, but Jeremy would take what authority he could get – he assumed the role of ferryman, first point of contact in the Underworld, and a man that all mortal souls sought to impress. No-one wanted to spend eternity on the wrong shore of the Styx.

“What’s up?” he asked. The stranger raised an eyebrow, appraising him with amusement. Dammit. That was not what he meant to say. “I...umm...meant...” he coughed, lowering his voice. “You are in the presence of Jeremy Charon. Who are you to come seeking passage across the turbulent waters of the river Styx? Only the dead may cross into the realm of Hades.”

“My name is Waverly Earp,” the stranger replied frankly, “and I am here to rescue my wife.”

“Wife, eh? I do love a good love story.” Jeremy sighed. Then he frowned. “How did you get past Xavier?”

“Xavier?”

“The dog.”

Waverly snorted. “Some dog!” She said. “Hell hound more like. Though he was quite sweet when he was sleeping.”

Jeremy grinned. “I know. Sometimes I like to rub his tummy and the little snakes on his back go all giddy.”

Waverly decided not to ask. “Mister Charon, I would very much like to seek passage aboard your vessel.”

At this Jeremy sobered slightly. He took a moment to look at the slimy rushes that lined the river bank before returning his gaze to Waverly’s eyes, still very much alight with the spark of life. “There are strict rules in the Underworld Waverly Earp, and you do not belong here.”

“Please. I understand that you ask a price. I can pay!” Reaching into her pocket she removed a golden drachma and offered it out to him. “I only seek an audience with Hades. I am sure that once I explain, any actions on your part will be forgiven.” Waverly begged with everything she had.

At the sight of the coin, far more precious than his normal obol, Jeremy’s eyes lit up, but he restrained himself from taking the offered gold. “You cannot reason with Death, child.”

“But I can reason with you.” Waverly persisted. “Tell me what I can do that will make you change your mind.”

Jeremy eyed her for a moment longer and took the coin. “Your wife,” he said as he rubbed the precious metal on his cloak, inspecting the shine in the watery darkness. “What was her name?”

A melancholy smile danced over Waverly’s lips. “Nicole Haught.” She answered softly.

“Ah, tall redhead?” Waverly’s head shot up as she stared at him. Jeremy chuckled. “I never forget a face. And she is quite the beauty.” Waverly nodded wistfully.

“Have you ever known love, Mister Charon?” the young bard asked.

Jeremy laughed and shook his head. “Love rarely sets foot in the Underworld, and if it does, it does not remain for long.”

“Do you consider yourself alive?” Waverly questioned.

“Being immortal, I am neither living nor dead. Why do you ask?”

“Because to know love is to know what it is like to truly live. To experience the fires of passion is to drink up life in all its glory! Let me tell you about Love and all its mischief. Perhaps I can bring some colour to the eternal gray that hangs over you.” She plucked a few strings of her lyre to pique the immortal’s interest.

Jeremy felt a burst of excitement in his chest. “Music!” He exclaimed, bouncing on his toes. Then, trying to school his expression into something more suited to his role, he said “Very well. Come aboard and teach me about Love. It is rare for me to be in such vibrant company and today is a slow day after all.”

Waverly climbed aboard the rickety boat. The wooden floor sloshed with fetid river-water that oozed from odd holes roughly plugged with scraps of cloth. Perching upon one of the many benches, she began her melody as the boatman pushed off from bank of the Styx and began the journey over hostile waters, further into the inescapable darkness.

 

~*~

 

Waverly turned away from the ferryman as he made his way back across the river, and pushed her way into the milling crowd of wraiths and shades that gathered on the far bank of the Styx, as if by staying there they could cling to some vestige of the Upper World. Once whole people, they were now merely impressions stamped upon the stagnant air, unaware of their surroundings.

Charon had told her that this region of the Underworld was unofficially named Purgatory. The in-between. Not Elysium, not Tartarus, but a hell of itself. Purgatory is where Waverly would find Nicole. Having died unfulfilled she was destined to wander this plain for eternity.

Waverly could not stand that thought, and as she looked at all the wretched figures around her, tears streaked her rosy cheeks. She saw young men who died before their time, the faces of their grieving mothers illuminated as their funeral pyres burned. Maidens who had yet to come into the blush of adolescence and know what it is to be a woman. Poor souls for whom life proved too hard, their fates sealed by their own hands. The victims of disease. People who were once husbands and daughters, mothers and brothers, but were now one in thousands of gaunt faces, their names fading from history as the weather eroded them from their tombstones and memory failed.

Waverly tried not to look out for red hair in the crowd. She must first petition Hades if she had any hope of liberating Nicole from this place.

As she made her way to the House of Hades, emotion brought forth song from her lips, and music poured from her as if from a fountain. The throng of shades divided as she approached. In the blissful fields of Elysium, great heroes raised their heads in rapture, and in the depths of Tartarus, even the Revenants ceased their screaming to listen. And when she reached the abode of the ruler of this desolate kingdom, the doors swung open of their own accord.

 

~*~

 

Hades looked at Waverly Earp, and Waverly Earp looked back.

The figure sitting carelessly in the throne in front of her was not what Waverly expected. Not at all. Slim, but average height, long brown hair and piercing blue eyes. Female. Her legs were kicked over the arm of her great stone chair but she turned, rooting them on the ground as Waverly approached, footsteps echoing in the cavernous chamber.

“Wynonna Hades, at your service.” The figure said with a smirk, inspecting her up and down. Her voice was neither soft nor cold, commanding nor understanding. “What brings you to Purgatory, darlin’?” As Waverly is about to speak, she continues. “Wait, let me guess. You are here to ‘rescue’ - I believe that is how you put it earlier - your wife?”

“Yes ma’am.” Waverly replies warily.

Wynonna chuckles, turning to a doorway off to the side. “Hear that Doc? Her wife needs 'rescuing'!”

From an adjoining room a second character emerged. He had a large moustache shadowing a small smile. “Perhaps we should provide better welfare to the inmates.” He said wryly. 

“Inmates!” Wynonna cackled. She turned back to Waverly. “You want to rescue your dead wife, Waverly Earp?”

The word ‘dead’ stabbed through Waverly’s heart painfully and made her flinch. “How do you know my name?” She asked, trying not to be intimidated, and upset at being mocked.

“You are Waverly Earp, pupil of Apollo, disciple of Dionysus, daughter of Calliope, must I go on? All this formal nonsense bores me. Basically you are a damn good musician and word gets around. Even to the Underworld, Miss Earp, not to mention I overhear everything that goes on here. In my domain.” She leant forward with the air of a cat watching a canary. “Jeremy always was a soft touch, but I am afraid it is going to take more than a tragic love story to persuade me to release your Nicole. I’m sick of all the wailing in this place. And please for the love of myself, do not start singing. This is not a damn musical.”

Waverly remained silent. Her eyes flicked to the moustached man standing beside Hades’ throne. Wynonna noticed.

“Ah, let me introduce you to my husband John Persephon Holliday. But we all call him Doc. He ate one pomegranate seed too many and is now destined to spend half the year with me and the other making grain grow upstairs. How’s that for tragic?” Doc snorted and Wynonna elbowed him in the side. 

The ruler of the Underworld rose from her stone seat. “Hell that thing’s uncomfortable.” She grumbled. Striding stiffly into Waverly’s personal space, she began to circle the young bard. “You do understand that no-one has ever left the Underworld before? Except that Odysseus fellow. Oh, and maybe that goody-two-shoes Aeneas. But they don’t count because they weren’t dead.”

“I understand that your kingdom is the most enduring on Earth, and Death cannot discriminate between mortals.” Waverly replied levelly. “We are all owed to you and we all end up here eventually.”

“Damn straight.” Said Wynonna smugly. “I am the most powerful god. Even Zeus cannot prevent me from taking what I am owed.”

“Yes!” The bard continued enthusiastically. “Even Zeus does not have the power to raise the dead. But, surely, if you are more powerful then Zeus, then you could?”

Hades stopped pacing abruptly. “Oh no, no, no you little minx. I see what you are doing. Atlas might not be able to bear the weight of my ego, but it is not so big that I have lost my head. No resurrections are happening today. No way.”

“But why not?” Waverly pushed. “What power exists that is superior to yours and could prevent you from doing what you want?”

“Chaos, my dear child. The reminder of what the world once was and how if we all did what we wanted, Chaos would reign once more.”

“Even if it was just one time? Just once to prove your dominance?”

Hades took a threatening step forward, hell-fire flaring in her icy eyes. “Watch yourself, Miss Earp. I do not need to prove anything to anyone. Least of all you. A mortal playing at being a demi-god.”

“I am sorry, I meant no disrespect.” Waverly bowed her head deferentially. At this, Doc came forward, laying a restraining hand on Wynonna’s arm.

“Perhaps we should bring the girl here and see what she has to say.” He suggested. Wynonna remained silent for a minute, staring at Waverly with a hard, penetrating gaze. Finally she nodded.

The sound of a series of large metal doors unlocking and reclosing throughout the house could be heard ominously, until another entrance to the room opened and Nicole stepped through.

She wore the same clothes she died in and walked with a limp where her leg should be broken. The swollen bite on her forearm was still visible, and Waverly felt sick. This was a pale imitation of her brave Nicole. A shade who had no consciousness and did as others bid.

Rushing towards her, the bard stopped just short of touching her, not wanting to feel her hands pass through thin air where there should be warm skin.

“She cannot see you.” Doc said gently, coming up behind her. “Taking away their awareness is a mercy in this land.” Waverly did not acknowledge him, simply drank in the face of her beloved.

Then Wynonna clicked her fingers and Nicole blinked her deep brown eyes. A frown formed on her perfect features and she began to look around, perplexed, before her sight landed on Waverly and a dazzling grin split her face, bringing light to the dark cavern. “Waves.” She breathed. She reached out a spectral hand that passed straight through Waverly’s arm, and tried again with the same result, until fear wormed its way into her expression. “Wait. I should be dead.” Looking at her hands and the walls around her she murmured “I am dead.” Suddenly her head jerked up in panic, “You’re here too! You’re not dead are you? Please don’t be dead.”

Waverly’s lip wobbled as she tried to keep her tears at bay. “No, no, I am okay Sweetheart. I am here for you.” She said.

“For me?” the redhead repeated in awe.

“Yes. Yes of course for you.” Waverly was crying now. She couldn’t help it when she knew that Nicole could not imagine that anyone would go to the ends of the Earth for her.

“Okay,” interjected Hades, “I think we have established who is here for whom. Now darlin’,” she addressed Nicole with a fake smile, “Can you give us any plausible reason as to why we should let you return to the Upper Air with your lover here?”

Nicole looked uncertainly to Waverly, who nodded in encouragement. Demurely she began thus: “I have no special talents, unlike my love here. I am a simple person, and certainly in no position to dispute the judgement of the Fates. But Waverly deserves a companion in life who loves her unconditionally.” Subtly Waverly shook her head at the mention of love, and Nicole swallowed, changing tack. “I cannot speak for my wife, but I know her better than I know myself. If she is willing to enter the Underworld on my behalf, she would willingly end her life to be with me in death, and I can think of many people on the Surface, immortals and humankind alike, who would mourn her loss when she has so much music still to give. If you let me go, I will return to you again. There is no avoiding it. But please, loan us a few more years to teach folk what hope is.”

Waverly smiled. “Perhaps if music brought them a better life, they would wail less in your company.” 

Wynonna snorted. “I doubt it.” She muttered. Doc leant in and murmured something in Wynonna’s ear. “Let us confer.” Hades said, turning her back to the pair. Nicole shifted closer to Waverly and the bard wished more than anything that they could hold hands. After some time and lots of gesticulating between the two immortals, Wynonna faced them, rolled her eyes, and sighed. Doc looked amused.

“After much deliberation we have agreed to grant you a second chance at life, if only to get you out of our hair. Try not to aggravate any spiders this time. We do, however, have one condition Waverly Earp. As you return to the Surface, your wife must follow behind you at all times and under no condition are you to look upon her until the sunlight touches your face.”

Waverly and Nicole looked at each other, beaming in disbelief. “Thank you!” breathed the bard. “Thank you so much!”

Wynonna nodded curtly, discomforted by such eagerness. “If you go this way, you’ll avoid my baby Xavier, the three-headed dog.” She pointed to the passage Nicole had emerged from. “Right, right then left and then straight on ‘til morning.” She winked.

As the two figures receded from view, Wynonna turned to Doc and whispered “I bet you ten drachmae that the bard cannot resist a peek at her ‘precious Nicole’.” She said the last part in a high pitched voice.

“You’re on.” He whispered back.

 

~*~

 

Waverly followed the dark tunnel, the sharp incline beginning to make her legs burn. She could feel Nicole’s presence at her back, but doubt started to niggle at the edges of her mind the further they continued. What if she was imagining it? What if Nicole wasn’t there? What if something in the darkness snatched her away?

“Nicole?” There was no reply. The bard stopped abruptly. “Nicole?!” Her voice broke with desperation and her neck strained with the effort to keep her head facing forward as she reached out blindly with her hand before remembering that she would not be able to feel her. Her breaths started to come in sharp pants and it took a moment to calm herself down. Hades’ words echoed in her head. Under no circumstances must she turn around. It was probably all some kind of cruel trick designed to make her fail. Perhaps Nicole’s consciousness had once again been taken from her.

Then, as she tended to do in any difficult situation, she began to sing, hoping this would act as a guide for her beloved. She sang all of her wife’s favourite songs and interspersed them by simply talking to her. Telling her about the journey here and how much she missed her. How she could barely function on her own anymore, and all the things they would do when they got to the Upper World.

When light could finally be seen at the end of the tunnel, Waverly had to prevent herself from running. Somehow it seemed to take forever just to cover the last one hundred metres, like walking on deep sand. And when the sunlight splashed upon her face like warm water, still she walked until she was far enough from the opening to even contemplate the risk of turning around.

She stood frozen, looking out over a lake with unseeing eyes. She had no idea where she was, and she didn’t care. Her whole being was focused behind her for any sign of life.

And then she felt a hand upon her arm, turning her around into solid arms, and she was enveloped by the scent of vanilla as she pressed her face into familiar auburn hair and sobbed with happiness. The hand began to stroke her hair, and a soft, warm voice murmured reassurances to her until she had gathered herself enough to pull back and look up into the face that made one thousand ships unfurl their sails in her heart. Gentle thumbs wiped the traces of tears from her face.

Both women laughed with glee.

“You are extraordinary, Waverly Earp.” Nicole whispered, resting their foreheads together.

“I never thought I would hear your voice again.” The bard choked out. “I would rather be deaf for eternity.”

“No.” Nicole soothed. “I am here now, thanks to you, and I am not going anywhere ever again. You’re stuck with me.” She placed a kiss on the shorter girl’s nose.

“I’m so sorry that I didn’t believe you.” Waverly began to cry once more, resting her head against Nicole’s chest. “I was so stupid.”

“Shh, none of that matters now, okay? I don’t blame you for anything.”

“No, it does. It does matter. I promise I’ll always listen to you.”

“And I you. I should not have gone off alone. It was reckless. So from now on we stick together, yes?”

“Oh, I am not letting you out of my sight!” Waverly huffed out with a watery chuckle. Nicole pressed another kiss to her forehead before hooking a slender finger under her chin and nudging her head up so that their lips could meet. Their mouths glided together in a silken caress, re-learning the shape of one another, as their hands did the same on their bodies.

 

~*~

 

Waverly introduced Nicole to travel, and they explored the world, bringing light to all races, all nations that were graced with their presence. People would talk of the lovely lyre player who could prevent wars and cure illnesses. Word travelled of her mysterious companion, tall and beautiful with fair skin and auburn hair. And rumour spread of the love they held for each other; the kind of love that brought hope to people’s lives.

 

FIN.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this, I hope you enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> Let's just say that for the purpose of this story, a Black Widow's bite is lethal almost immediately. In the original story Eurydice stood on a snake, but the Widow made more sense here.


End file.
